


Gentle Execution

by serenitymeimei



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitymeimei/pseuds/serenitymeimei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Magnus throughout her lifetime. Prompt- Helen, black stockings. Helen/everyone</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentle Execution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windandthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/gifts).



**1878, John Druitt-**

The first time that Helen wore black stockings, it was an act of rebellion. Bucking against society and the church.

This was before The Five became _The Five_ , back when she and John were still innocent and young and in love. They'd been dating for a little over a year, and he'd just asked for her hand in marriage when she finally decided to give in and put them both out of their misery. She might have been slightly naive when it came to men back then, but even she realized that the physical expression of love could be a beautiful thing (unlike everything she'd ever been told growing up), and wanted to experience it firsthand. So, one night between experiments in their lab, when John suggested that they take in an opera, she'd known it was the perfect opportunity.

She spent nearly an hour in the bath that day, washing with special soaps, and taking the time that she usually never took to pamper herself. Once she'd gotten out she carefully pulled a new, deep green dress out of her wardrobe, adorned with black lace on the bodice's neckline, trailing down to an overly ruffled bustle dotted with bows of the same color. It wasn't her normal style, much more daring and low-cut than she'd ever worn before, but it made her feel beautiful and sexy. A feeling, it turns out, that heightened her confidence just enough to purchase a new set of undergarments to go along with it, specifically for the purpose of this night. She paid almost double the going rate to have a gorgeous black corset made, paired with frilly knickers and stockings to match, and as a result she rode the entire way home with a blush on her face.

In the end, their night had been so romantic, everything she could've asked for and more. He'd picked her up early, surprising her with roses and wine and dinner, followed by the most fantastic two hours of symphonies and song. She'd been hyper aware of herself the entire evening, fraught with excitement, a warmth settling between her thighs at the mere thought of wearing such naughty underthings out in public. Her cheeks heated every time she felt his eyes roaming her body, like he knew that she'd worn something just for him, trembling with every teasing touch that he bestowed upon her.

By the time they made it back to his estate and John laid her down onto his bed, peeling away the layers one at a time, seeing and touching more than any other man ever had, she'd been more than ready. Of course she was still nervous, but the need that she felt within herself far outweighed it.

“My, my,” he chuckled warmly, his fingers teasing their way up her inner thighs, slipping under the edge of her knickers, “what do we have here, Helen?”

She whimpered softly, her nails digging into John's shoulders as he drew her stockings down one by one, “Do you- do you like them?”

He leaned down and kissed her until she was gasping for breath, tugging one of her legs around the back of his hips until he was pressed intimately against her, “What do you think, love?”

“I think,” she smirked, sliding her hands under his jacket, “that it was the best investment I'll ever make.”

 

* * *

**1891, James Watson/H.G. Wells-**

Helen was in mourning- for the loss of her lover and friend, and the countless people that he murdered. For the last three years, she'd merely been ghost of her former self. Broken and lost, simply going through the motions of life. It was excruciating.

Her only saving grace had been James and his wife of two years, H.G. Wells. Helena was a scientist herself, sister of the soon-to-be-famous author sharing the same name, and she and James had fallen madly in love during John's reign of terror as Jack the Ripper. They were so nice to her. Taking her in, tending to her when she needed it, making sure that she didn't overwork herself and that she ate at least once a day. At night though, when it was just her and her thoughts, silent tears slipping down her temples, that's what she really had to thank them for.

The first time it happened was four months after John disappeared. She'd had just a little too much to drink during dinner and as Helena was undressing her for bed, she finally allowed herself to cry. The other woman had been surprised, looking up at her from her position on the floor, where she'd just finished gently rolling dark stockings down her legs. Everything seemed to hit her at once- _he_ used to do this for her, disrobing her in the dark of the night after a romantic evening out or hours spent reading in front of the fireplace- and once it started, there had been no stopping it. Helena had quickly finished undressing her that night, soothing her puffy face with a cool cloth before lying down next to her, running fingers soothingly through her hair until she passed out from exhaustion.

From then on, whenever her grief caught her off guard, one of them would always lay with her. It was an unspoken agreement, comforting her until she either fell asleep or had calmed herself enough to talk about it. It went on like that for weeks, then months, and before she knew it a year had passed. They made her feel safe, not so alone in the world. But the longer it went on, the more that her guilt settled in. Helen never meant to pull them away from each other, it wasn't fair to either of them, for a husband and wife to be separated so often. Which is why on Christmas Eve in 1892, when she was feeling rather bold, she asked them _both_ to stay.

Nearly every morning after that, Helen woke with at least one set of arms around her, and for some reason that had been exactly the change that she needed. Slowly, her nightmares began to dwindle and she found herself starting to smile again. It was like a light had been turned back on inside of her, and her life was falling back into place.

Seasons passed- spring, summer, fall- and the more time she spent with them, the more she felt like herself again. She began appearing in the social rings that she'd belonged to with John, and her dream to run her own Sanctuary was beginning to look more and more like a reality. Everything was returning to normal.

“Well, look at you,” Helena teased late one November evening, sauntering into their bedroom, “I'm surprised you're still awake, sweetheart.”

Smiling, she closed her book, “Just waiting for you. Where's James?”

“Downstairs fiddling with that medieval contraption of his I imagine.”

“It _is_ going to sustain him for the rest of his life,” she chuckled, rolling onto her side, head in her hand, “I'd give it a bit of fuss as well.”

Helena rolled her eyes, slipping her robe off her shoulders before crawling under the blankets next to her, “He has two _beautiful_ women waiting for him in his bed. What kind of man leaves them to their own devices?”

“Scientific advancement knows no bounds,” Helen said sarcastically, lazily sliding an arm around H.G.'s waist, relaxing into the fluffy pillows so that they were eye to eye.

“He's lucky that I adore him.”

Helen's mouth twitched faintly in an affectionate grin, “That he is.”

“I adore you as well,” H.G. whispered, “You know that, right?”

Her stomach fluttered, an odd sensation washing over her. Sure, she knew that both of them were fond of her, they wouldn't have taken her in for so long if they hadn't, but there was a certain hesitance in Helena's voice that hinted of something deeper laying just beneath the surface.

“Well, I knew you cared, but-” Helen's breath caught in the back of her throat, feeling a light touch slide along her cheek, sweeping a lock of blond hair behind her ear.

Her fingers automatically tightened against H.G.'s back, thin cotton bunching in her grasp as she leaned into the caress. It felt amazing to be touched like that again- with love and tenderness- differently than anything the two of them had experienced before. But, not once had a _woman_ ever made her feel this way. She was confused and excited, somewhat akin to stumbling upon a monumental discovery in her lab and knowing that she was the only person in the world to see such wonder.

“Are you alright, darling?” Helena cupped her cheek, a thumb gently ghosting over her bottom lip, “Don't tell me I've finally managed to render the great Helen Magnus speechless?”

She smiled, her skin dotting with pink, “Quite possibly, yes.”

Their eyes met. Silence hung heavily between them.

“So,” H.G. began slowly, inching closer, “you wouldn't be averse to my kissing you, then?”

Helen's gaze fell to the other woman's mouth, her heart beating rapidly. Averse? No, not at all. Scared? More than a little.

H.G. didn't wait for an answer though, instead she rested their foreheads against each other, sharing a few uneven breaths before brushing their lips together in the lightest of touches. Helen gasped, pressing into the kiss, deepening it. It was warm and tender and soft, so much different from kissing John, especially toward the end. She found that she rather liked it.

“I wondered when the tension would break,” James called out from somewhere in the room, sounding amused.

Startled, Helen broke the kiss, her stomach dropping at the sight of him standing in the doorframe. There was a lazy smirk on his face, one eyebrow rising before he pushed himself away from the door frame, taking off his jacket as he made his way toward them.

“Dear heart, there you are,” H.G. cooed over her shoulder, her hand running down Helen's side under the covers, “Are you planning on joining us?”

She shivered, feeling a thumb brush against the underside of her breast.

James chuckled, lazily unbuttoning his shirt,“I'd be a fool not to.”

Helena grinned and turned back to her, pressing their bodies together until there was no space between them. Her insides warmed and tightened in anticipation.

“Is this alright with you, Helen?”

The corner of her mouth curved, leaning forward, kissing her with much more vigor than she thought she had, “It looks as if my evening just became far more interesting.”

The next morning, when she woke wrapped around Helena, nothing but a thin sheet at their waists covering them, there was a familiar blue gown draped across the end of the bed with white stockings and underthings nearby. James must have laid them out for her. Something to replace the worn black dresses that she'd been wearing for nearly three years.

Helen smiled. It was time to move on.

 

* * *

**1946, Nikola Tesla-**

The next time Helen wore black stockings for someone, it was just after the war ended. It was a time of celebration and indulgence, and after one too many glasses of wine Nikola had somehow managed to convince her that modeling the dresses he'd brought over from France was a good idea.

Normally, after a bit of badgering, she would've given into his pleading and tried them on anyway. But the thing about Nikola is- he'd never been one to respect personal space, or modesty for that matter. Which is why she wasn't all that surprised when he strode into her bedroom, eying her with a lecherous grin as she stood there in her lacy underwear, a dress halfway over her head.

“Why, Helen,” he drawled out, coming to a stop just close enough for her to feel the subtle hint of electricity radiating off of him, “I knew you were breathtaking, but my God. ”

She chuckled, finally wrestling the dress down her body until it pooled around her like a second skin, “I'm glad I don't disappoint, Nikola.”

“Definitely not, my dear,” he smirked, one brow arching his gaze traveled from the top of her head to down to the tips of her toes and back again.

“I take it you approve then?”

“Oh, yes,” She could feel her skin flush a rosy pink as he sauntered closer, forcing her to shuffle back until she felt her knees bump into bed, “I've always said that red is your color.”

Watching as his palms slid down her sides and over her hips, she felt his fingers slowly bunch up the silky material of the dress, pulling at it until the hem rested around mid-thigh. She sent him a warning glare, but didn't stop him, her traitorous body arching slightly into his touch.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She did as she was told, letting out an inaudible sigh as his hands continued their journey down her legs and he knelt in front of her.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, his eyes danced as he pulled out a ball of black fabric, “While I normally find this style a bit tasteless, I saw these and just couldn't resist.”

Unrolling the fabric, her eyes widened when she realized what they were- fishnet stockings. Carefully, she watched as he lifted her foot and slipped the contraption on, rolling it slowly up her calf and over her knee. In typical Nikola fashion, his fingertips lingered on her inner thigh, inching so high that she was sure he felt the heat radiating from between her legs.

“Nikola,” she warned sternly.

Finally grasping the clips on her garter belt, he attached them to the stocking and met her gaze, “Must you always ruin my fun?”

“I live for it,” Helen grinned down at him, “Now, hurry up. On with the other one. If I'm going to wear this dress, then you're taking me dancing.”

“Am I, now?” he laughed.

There was just enough alcohol in her system to make her bold, grasping him by the lapels and pulling him into a quick and dirty kiss.

She pulled away with a sweet smile, “What was that?”

Nikola cleared his throat and loosened in the top button on his shirt.

“Dancing? Hmm,” he slid the other stocking up her bare leg, quickly fastening it before rising to his feet, “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Helen chuckled and slid on her heels, taking his arm, leading him out of the room, “That's what I thought.”

 

* * *

**1985, Big Guy-**

It was February. Cold, windy, and just plain miserable- perfectly describing Helen's current condition. She was hunched over the toilet in the lavatory, shivering as sweat rolled down her furrowed brow. Her empty stomach ached, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. If she'd had any indication that her pregnancy was going to be this horrible, she'd have certainly given it a second thought before going through with the re-implantation.

Behind her, the door opened and shut quietly. She didn't have to turn to know who it was, they'd been through this before. In fact, he'd come to her aid nearly every morning for the last two weeks. Her newest resident had taken it upon himself to see to her needs, refusing to leave the Sanctuary after she'd sheltered him and healed his wounds. He didn't talk much, but after nearly six months of working with him, she knew that he could be trusted.

The sound of the faucet turning filled the room, hail pinging against window just above her head as a winter storm reared its ugly head outside. Quickly though, the tap shut off and shuffling footsteps neared. Blinking heavily, adjusting to the dim light, she found a glass hovering neatly just within her field of vision.

When she didn't take it right away, he grunted, “Drink.”

A few seconds passed before she looked up at him, watching as his head cocked to the side, bobbing forward as he gestured to the water once again. If she hadn't been feeling so horribly, it would've made her smile, having learned recently that his fussing was a sign of affection. Gently, he crouched down in front of her and took her hand in his. She let him- savoring the contact while it lasted, for his was the only touch she'd felt in almost a year, she was lonely- gasping softly when she felt the cold glass being placed in her grasp.

Helen took a sip, then another, waiting for the inevitable protest of her stomach. When it didn't come, she greedily drank half of the glass in a few, quick gulps. It was soothing, leaving her feeling full and somewhat normal.

He exhaled with a short huff and stood, looming over her for a second before moving back to the counter top. She thought that was going to be it, but only a few seconds later he returned holding a small package in his hands.

“For you,” he mumbled, passing it to her.

One delicate eyebrow lifted in surprise as she set down her drink and took the poorly wrapped gift into her possession, “What's this?”

“Open.”

Managing a small grin, she untied the twine and carefully pulled away the cloth. What she saw inside, well- it made her throat tighten and her heart warm.

He'd made her a pair of socks.

They were large and black, and when she ran her fingers over one, she found it soft and thick.

“This is what you've been making?” she breathed out, seeking out his gaze, “For me?”

He nodded, grunting softly as he leaned forward and laid a hand on her bare foot, pulling it into his lap. Next he took one of the socks and slipped it on, tugging it up until it rested halfway up her shin. She hadn't realized how cold she'd been. Her skin was tingling now, surrounded by warmth as he repeated the process on her other foot and patted her ankles before releasing her.

Looking down, she stared in awe, wiggling her toes as she admired his work. There were a few dropped stitches and one was slightly longer than the other, but they were perfect in her eyes.

Before she could think, she closed the gap between them, wrapping him in her arms. An uncharacteristically large swell of emotions flowed through her.

“Thank you, I love them,” she whispered.

After a few moments he patted her awkwardly on the back, letting her lean into him until the sun started to show on the horizon, a few lingering snowflakes falling from the sky.

She wore those socks to bed the next night, and every other night until Ashley was born.

 

* * *

**2011, Will Zimmerman-**

She thought he was kidding when he left a large, white box in the middle of her bed the eve before Ashley's birthday. There was a small envelope taped to the top of it, a note, just vague enough pique her curiosity and don the box's contents the next evening, walking down to his quarters at the specified time.

She felt ridiculous. Never had she worn such an outfit before, even in the privacy of her own bedroom. But, there she was, walking freely through the Sanctuary wearing purple plaid pajama bottoms with a matching long sleeved top, topped with a thick, oversized sweater, black, ribbed knee socks and an old pair of moccasins on her feet. She missed the comfort and power that her pencil skirts and heels brought her, right and proper, not one hair out of place. Whatever Will was up to, it better be damn near fabulous to dress her in such relaxed manner.

Helen finally came to a stop in front of his door, pulling the sweater more tightly around her waist as she raised her fist to knock. The wood was cold under her knuckles, much like her mood, and the shiver building beneath her skin wasn't doing much to make things any better. She'd never been so tempted to turn around and run back to the safety of her own room, to hide. But an evening spent alone, clutching a picture of Ashley to her chest as she sobbed for the loss of her child, quite possibly sounded even worse.

About thirty seconds passed before he answered the door, wearing a sheepish as he pulled on a worn college sweatshirt, “I'm glad you came.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” she nodded, oddly relieved to see him dressed in a similar fashion. At least she wasn't alone in this insanity, “Though I am rather curious to find out what it is exactly that we'll be doing this evening.”

“That part is a surprise,” he said, a sweet grin curling his lips.

The next thing she knew, she was quite literally being dragged back the way she came, toward the spiral staircase that led up to the roof. His excitement was catching. Warm fingers wrapped loosely around hers, looking back at her every so often like he was desperate to share his secret with her. Helen couldn't help it, chuckling at his antics as she fell into pace next to him. Upon arriving at the top of the stairs though, she stopped short, breath caught in the back of her throat, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

Somehow, Will had managed to set up the large, makeshift tent that they used once a year to lounge about eating pastilla and drinking tea- a Moroccan getaway. Inside, she could hear Henry, Kate and the Big Guy chatting quietly, and on the other side of the roof she spotted one of the small portable generators humming away.

“I know that this might be too much for you to handle today, Magnus,” he glanced briefly her in direction, squeezing the hand that she'd forgotten was still tangled with his, before continuing, “But, we want to be here for you- if you'll let us.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart skip a beat. It had been a long time since anyone cared enough to worry about her, let alone gone out of their way to comfort her when she needed it. It was a terrifying, but completely welcome gesture.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she whispered, “I miss her.”

Will, bless his heart, seemed just as surprised as she was that she'd actually taken the next step in their friendship, finally sharing something personal with him without provocation. Helen sighed, taking the time that he needed to process such a revelation to shift his hold on her, threading their fingers together. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right- all or nothing. It was time to let someone in, let somebody share the burden that her unusually long lifespan brought upon her. And if there was anyone out there who would understand her plight- hold her secrets dear, and confront her mistakes head on- it was him. He'd already more than proven himself to her over the years.

“I miss her, too,” he whispered back, the tremble in his voice not quite lost in the breeze whipping around them, “We all do.”

She studied him closely out of the corner of her eye, taking in his slouched posture and the way he compulsively wet and nibbled on his lower lip, a nervous tic that she'd seen him use before to keep himself from crying.

“I should've known that you'd need to talk about it. It was selfish of me to think otherwise,” swaying closer to him, the back of her hand brushed against the outside his thigh, and she allowed herself a small smile when he pressed into the contact, “Can you ever forgive me, Will?”

His gaze snapped up to hers, electric blue boring into her, and before she could even blink he'd tugged her into his embrace. Strong arms circling her body, holding her close, fingers tangled in her hair. Taken by surprise, she hesitated for only moment before relaxing into him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Helen,” she shivered as his breath puffed past her ear, his cheek pressed against her temple, “You were grieving.”

“That doesn't make it alright. You and the others were left to suffer because of my neglect.”

Will's fingertips raked over her scalp, massaging the tense muscles of her neck. She sighed softly, letting her eyes slip shut as he pressed a tender kiss onto the side of her head.

“I forgive you,” he murmured quietly, his voice so low that she barely heard him.

But, for a moment it made her feel a bit lighter. Like he'd given her permission to finally come to terms with Ashley's death, maybe even accept it one day. It wasn't logical by any means, but that's why he was the psychologist and she's not. The secrets of the human brain, if not being discussed in a purely scientific manner, still confused her most days.

“Thank you, Will.”

He squeezed her tightly, lingering for a long moment before leaning back, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. His thumb caressed the apple of her cheek, leaving her embarrassed when she realized that he was wiping away a trail of wetness.

“You're welcome,” he said, flashing her a boyish, lopsided grin as he searched her eyes, “Now, what do you say? You ready for some pizza, beer and Mary Poppins?”

Helen chuckled, her gaze dropping to the ground between them as his hands slid down and grasped her own, “Ashely's favorites.”

“She _did_ always say that you couldn't have one without the other,” he grinned, “I don't know how she ever made it to the end, though. The last time we watched it together she was already three sheets to the wind halfway through, trying to convince us that the, _'wooden leg named Smith'_ joke would've been funnier if the punchline had been someone getting _beaten_ with said leg.”

A smirk curved her lips, warmth blooming in her chest, “It was part of her charm, as quirky as it may have been.”

His grip tightened, squeezing her palms, and she reciprocated in kind. Her index finger fluttering over his wrist until she found a pulse. It soothed her, feeling it's steady rhythm under her touch. Thump. Thump. Thump. Over and over again as the sun fell below the horizon in the distance.

“You gonna be alright, Magnus?”

Blinking heavily, she looked up, giving him a reassuring smile when she saw his worried gaze. For the first time in over a year, she felt... at peace.

“I will be.”

 

* * *

**2016, Henry Foss/Kate Freelander-**

In the end, the Cabal won.

Like they'd predicted, war had broken out, but no one, least of all her, had expected the US finally pulling their troops out of the Middle East would have been the trigger. There were only a few thousand men left when the Cabal made their move, creating chaos and bloodshed wherever they went. The soldiers hadn't seen it coming- each side almost completely slaughtered, save a few of course. Those survivors ran back to their superiors, telling them what they'd seen and word spread quickly. Before they knew it, tempers flared and a feud was born, growing more and more out of control as the weeks passed. First came the bombs, then the missiles. One thing led to another, and before they knew it, the entire planet was faced with a nuclear fallout that it had feared so much back in the 1950's and 60's.

The Sanctuary network never stood a chance.

Biggie had been caught in the crossfire first, never making it past the Sanctuary walls once the final stand had begun. Three months later, they just barely managed to make it to Edmonton when Nikola swept into their lives, saving them from a rain of bullets just before being crushed by a car. After that they made a point of it to be more careful. Helen was determined to keep what was left of her rapidly shrinking family in tact. But, nearly a year after the first warheads dropped, only a few days hike from their final destination, they were ambushed. Will was executed in front of her before she even had a chance to reach for her gun.

From there, Helen remembered very little of the next two days- looting a pharmacy in Fort Providence for Prussian Blue, flashes of a gray landscape and freezing winds, hiking up the ridge on the East side of Caen Lake before typing in the passcodes to the bunker, Kate crouching in front of her with a worried gaze and a gentle touch, the foreign sensation of warm water cascading over her body. Then the next thing Helen knew, she was waking up nestled safely in a large, soft bed, with Henry snuggled up behind her while her own head rested on Kate's chest.

All she could smell was soap, a forgotten luxury that made her nose itch and her inner woman melt happily. It was like a dream, the feeling of clean skin resting against her own. No layers of gunk, matted hair, or socks so stained by mud and sweat that they were practically black. They finally made it. Her body relaxed back into the sheets, eyes slipping shut as she let go and fell back into a dreamless sleep.

The next time she woke up, she felt a calloused hand slipping under the large t-shirt she was wearing, fingertips swirling across her stomach before coming to a rest just below her breasts. A small smile flickered across her lips, hovering just on the edge of consciousness. At first, she thought it was Will, he used to do that all the time when they were on the run. They'd pair off at night, Kate and Henry usually on watch first while she and Will rested their eyes for a few hours. His palm always somehow wiggled its way under her jacket, hiding it from the cold and simultaneously keeping it close to the gun that she'd leave laying by her hip just in case of an intruder. It had saved their lives more than a few times, that and his incredible hearing. But then Helen blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light in the complex, and it all came rushing back to her.

Will was dead, it couldn't be him.

Her breath hitched and her heart began to race wildly, eyes welling with moisture as the full force of her grief hit her for the first time. He was really gone. She had watched helplessly as he died, felt the warmth of his blood upon her face. Standing over him when all was said and done, looking down at his lifeless, blue eyes staring up at her as the snow around him slowly turned red.

Helen shuddered, a sob catching in the back of her throat.

“Doc?” the body behind her rumbled softly, “Hey, Magnus. What's wrong?”

Her fingers tightened, gripping a fistful of Kate's shirt as the girl slumbered on, tears finally spilling from beneath her lashes. Without another word, Henry scooted closer, pressing himself more fully along her body- his knees tucked firmly behind hers, bare chest against her back, palm steady against her ribcage- and for a moment the familiarity of his embrace calmed her weary soul.

“They're gone, Henry. I-I can't believe that they're all just- _gone_.”

“I know,” he sighed dolefully behind her, his chin rubbing against her bare shoulder where the shirt's neck had slipped off to the side, “I know... You still have us, though. We're here, and we're not leaving you anytime soon if I can help it,” pausing, he tightened his hold around her, “Okay?”

Helen's brow furrowed, eyes fluttering open, her heart breaking just a tiny bit. He was right. They were safe here. There'd be no more death, or horror, or violence. Just the three of them, living life in their little home a hundred feet below the surface of the Earth until it was safe on the surface again.

She felt herself nod, trembling in his arms as a fresh wave of emotion swept over her. Relief, guilt, sadness.

They'd really made it, hadn't they? This wasn't just some hopeful delusion, and she wasn't off being tortured in a dark room somewhere. It didn't seem real.

Kate shifted under her, letting out a tiny yawn as she lazily covered Helen's clenched fist with her own palm. She froze, her muscles tensing.

“Magnus?”

When she didn't respond, Henry murmured something to her and the shoulder she'd been resting on suddenly shifted, guiding her head gently back onto the pillows. A few seconds later she felt breath puffing across her cheek and a small hand skimming up her side until it cupped her face, the swipe of a thumb wiping away her tears.

“Hey, look at me,” Kate whispered.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm before obliging. What she saw in front of her though, made her gasp softly; a worried gaze desperately searching hers, dark eyes glassy and still hooded with sleep, quickly followed by the press of their foreheads resting together.

“Oh, Helen...”

In the next few moments Kate nuzzled her comfortingly, noses sliding together as fingertips slid from her hair down to her chin, tipping her head forward just enough for their lips to brush together in a tender kiss. She figured that it was supposed to end there, a declaration of affection and love and family. But, something sparked inside of her chest, parting her mouth just enough to nibble on Kate's bottom lip. She didn't resist, leaning into her as Helen deepened the contact.

Henry moaned behind them, two of his fingers slipping between her breasts, teasing lightly but mostly just resting them over her thundering heart. Soon though, Kate broke their embrace, the feeling of their tongues gliding languidly together still lingering prominently in her mind.

“We need to take this slow,” Kate panted quietly, reaching over to tangle her fingers in Henry's hair as he burrowed against the nape of her neck, and she brought their heads together once again, “We've got all the time in the world.”

Helen felt a tiny grin curl at the corner of her mouth, sniffling softly as she slid her arm around the woman's waist, “Thank you. Both of you.”

It was there in that bed, as they fell back asleep- alive and still breathing- that she realized everything felt... _right_ , somehow for the first time since this whole nightmare started. A type of contentment that she hadn't experienced in many years.

Kate and Henry were quite literally all she had left in this world. And, despite all of their losses- dearly departed friends, their home, everything they knew and loved- she knew that they were going to be alright.

**End.**


End file.
